


A Tasteful Experience

by dracoqueen22



Series: Number One Crush [8]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bukkake, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Spark Play, Spike Oral, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome, Twincest, Valve frottage, Valve oral, Wall Sex, minor bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA Skittles: Taste the Lambo.  If Optimus was going to insist that Ratchet take a vacation, then by Primus, Ratchet was going to take a vacation. And he was going to drag his Twins along for a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tasteful Experience

This was all Optimus' fault. Though the kinky slagger claimed that if Ratchet was willing to take pictures and/or video, he wouldn't mind accepting the blame.  
  
Hah. As if.  
  
Though Ratchet also doubted that either of his lovers would mind. Sideswipe's capacity for pleasure was boundless and Sunstreaker never missed a chance to admire himself.  
  
So if Optimus was going to insist that Ratchet take a vacation, then by Primus, Ratchet was going to take a vacation. He left a wide-opticked First Aid in charge, calling it good practice, and assigned Hoist to assist. He warned Wheeljack that explosions – accidental or intentional – were not allowed upon pain of death and given that Ratchet planned to spend the time facing up the Ark's most notorious prankster, he had nothing to worry about on that end.  
  
In fact, when he'd gone to Prowl and informed the tactician that he planned to take Sideswipe and Sunstreaker with him on this vacation – taking them off Prowl's hands and away from trouble – Prowl couldn't sign the paperwork fast enough. He'd gleefully rearranged schedules and shifts just to have a week's worth of peace and quiet. He'd shaken Ratchet's hand and thanked him for “taking one for the team.”  
  
Hah. It wasn't _that_ much of a sacrifice to spend a week interfacing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker into exhaustion. Besides, it was about time those two learned what Ratchet could really do, when he wasn't exhausted from double-shifts or patching up idiots or even just mentally wiped from being at war for millennia.  
  
There was a reason he'd been called the Party Ambulance.  
  
Poor Twins wouldn't know what hit them. They were also none the wiser as to his plans. While they were on shift, believing him to be busily at work in the medbay, Ratchet prepared. He gathered supplies, enough energon to keep them functional, cases of coolant for the inevitable overheating, stacks of mesh cloths to soothe the finicky Sunstreaker, and a care package from a giggling Bluestreak.  
  
Good mech, that Bluestreak. If only the other Autobots knew that he had all the best toys and accessories. If only they knew that Wheeljack had built half of them, with Hoist's suggestions.  
  
Young mechs, Ratchet thought with a fond shake of his helm. They always thought they had the monopoly on kink.  
  
Ratchet rearranged his seldom-used quarters, enlisting Ironhide's help to drag in a second berth that would fit all three of them. Eventually, he presumed, the Twins would move in and refuse to leave. Might as well be prepared for that.  
  
“Gonna relive the past, I see,” Ironhide said with a teasing poke to Ratchet's side.  
  
He swatted the old warrior's hand. “Don't talk to me about the glory days,” Ratchet grumbled, but it was with good humor. “And for your information, yes. You may want to invest in some noise dampeners.”  
  
Ironhide laughed good and loud. “Or maybe I'll listen and get inspired.” He winked.  
  
“You'll scandalize them.”  
  
“Only because they haven't realized you're even older than me, rust bucket.”  
  
And so it went, barbs trading between them until Ratchet's quarters were rearranged as he liked and he could send Ironhide on his way with one of Ratchet's last cubes from his cache of nucleon-grade energon.  
  
After that, Ratchet only had to wait for his lovers to get back from their patrol, at which point he could ambush them, inform them of their good fortune, lock the door to his quarters, and not emerge for a week. His engine revved at the idea.  
  
Ratchet grinned, reclined in his chair, and watched the door. He held a cube of high grade in one hand and his favorite datapad in the other. He'd actually had to brush dust off of it!  
  
He promptly lost himself in the familiar story, a swashbuckling tale of a great space pirate and his endless trek across the universe to find the Answer. By the end it was not 42, much to Ratchet's disappointment, but it was still his favorite datapad of all time. It didn't matter how often he read it.  
  
He was in the middle of the mid-book climax where the great hero faced off against his greatest foe – Ratchet always secretly felt they needed to kiss and make up – when he heard the sound of someone putting the code into the access panel. He checked his chronometer and sure enough, it was time for the Twins to have returned from patrol.  
  
Ratchet stowed his datapad, finished off his high grade, and leaned back in the chair, propping his pedes up on a stool. He folded his hands beneath his windshield and he waited.  
  
The door opened to the tune of the Twins, mid-argument.  
  
“--my fault!” Sideswipe was snapping with that exasperated tone that suggested he'd done something to offend Sunstreaker and was tired of apologizing for it.  
  
“Everything is your fault,” Sunstreaker growled as they came inside. The door shut behind them.  
  
They were, Ratchet realized, absolutely filthy. Mud caked their frames, along with a liberal swath of pollen and those annoying flying tree seeds. He pinged Teletraan for an update and got an answer: it had started pouring halfway through their patrol. And given that it was the start of spring, they'd already collected a fair bit of pollen before the rain.  
  
It all turned into a gunky mess. Which meant Sideswipe likely hadn't done anything wrong and Sunstreaker was just being Sunstreaker because he was dirty and there was pollen in his gears and his vents.  
  
They hadn't noticed Ratchet yet.  
  
“That is statistically impossible!” Sideswipe spluttered.  
  
Sunstreaker arched an orbital ridge at his brother. “You've been spending too much time with Perceptor.”  
  
Ratchet cleared his vocalizer. “Ahem.”  
  
Both Twins stopped, turned, and stared at him. Sideswipe visibly rebooted his optics and turned in a slow circle as though confused by where he was.  
  
“We didn't enter the medbay by mistake,” Sideswipe observed.  
  
“Why aren't you working?” Sunstreaker asked.  
  
Ratchet drummed his fingers on his ventral armor. “One, I'm not always in the bay, contrary to popular belief. Two, I'm not on shift as of this moment. And three, I'm officially on vacation. Per Prime's insistence.” He leveled a stare at both of them.  
  
They exchanged glances.  
  
“A vacation?” Sideswipe repeated, tasting the word like he'd never heard it before. “And you listened to him?”  
  
Sunstreaker shrugged a shoulder, sending one tire to turning. Pollen flaked to the ground, along with a clump of mud. His engine revved at a pitch that suggested he was about to throw one of his famous fits.  
  
“I did.” Ratchet pushed himself to his pedes. His private washrack, while small, was the perfect place to get started. “Come on. You both need a shower. You're filthy. What did you do, start a mud wrestling match?”  
  
“Something like that,” Sunstreaker muttered and whirled on a heel strut, stalking toward the washracks. His armor had begun to flex and twitch, like a human having an allergic reaction.  
  
Well, Ratchet would just have to put him in a better mood. Luckily, Sideswipe was a lot easier. He cuddled on up to Ratchet's side, transferring some of the mud onto Ratchet's once pristine paint.  
  
“You're going to be lonely on your vacation without us,” he purred, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.  
  
Ratchet gave him a playful swat on the aft. “I would,” he admitted, “if I hadn't convinced Prowl to let you two join me.”  
  
Sideswipe all but bounced, his optics widening. “Really? How'd you manage that?”  
  
“By promising to keep you out of trouble.” He hooked a finger on Sideswipe's chestplate, pulling the red twin closer and put a growl in his vocals. “So you better not cause me to go back on my word or we'll never get a chance like this again. Got me, partner?”  
  
Sideswipe grinned and stole another kiss, his glossa poking teasingly at Ratchet's lips before he withdrew. “Crystal clear.”  
  
“My back isn't going to scrub itself!” The voice hollered at them from the washracks, floating out as though it had physical shape that could grasp them and drag them to its master's bidding.  
  
“It seems we've been summoned,” Ratchet drawled.  
  
Sideswipe grinned. “Aye. Not subtle, is he?”  
  
They shared a chuckle before agreeing it was better for everyone if they heeded the summons. A clean Sunstreaker was a happy Sunstreaker. And a happy Sunstreaker was a relaxed one far more interested in all the interfacing shenanigans Ratchet had planned.  
  
Sideswipe entered ahead of him and Ratchet squeezed into the space that was left. It was a private rack which meant it comfortably fit one, possibly two, and three was a bit of a stretch. But they made it work. Besides, it wasn't as if they minded bumping hips or chestplates or limbs.  
  
The drain was a yellow-brown swirl of pollen and seeds and cleanser. Sunstreaker had already rinsed the worst of it off and was now attacking his joints and seams with a scrub brush.  
  
Upon seeing Sideswipe, however, his “must clean!” instincts took over and he grabbed his brother by the arm, shoving him under the spray.  
  
“You're even dirtier than I am,” Sunstreaker grumbled, laying upon Sideswipe with a two handed approach of cloth and scrubber, giving him no room to flee.  
  
Sideswipe submitted with a roll of his optics and a playful grin over his shoulder. “It's because he loves me,” Sideswipe said.  
  
Ratchet chuckled and grabbed a spare scrubber. While Sunstreaker made sure Sideswipe was fit for his consumption, Ratchet tended to all those troublesome areas on Sunstreaker's back. It was hardly an onerous task.  
  
“So,” Sideswipe said, arms braced against the wall of the rack as Sunstreaker soaped up every inch of his frame, leaving no micrometer unscrubbed. “How long is this vacation for?”  
  
“A week?”  
  
Sunstreaker actually paused to look at Ratchet. “As in seven days?”  
  
Sideswipe snickered. “Yep. And word on the street is, we get to join him.”  
  
Sunstreaker snorted. “Who do we owe for that favor?” he asked and tapped his scrubber on Sideswipe's backplate. “Turn.”  
  
Sideswipe obeyed, raising his arms above his helm with a saucy splay against the wall. “Ratchet,” he purred, and winked an optic at both of them. “We'll have to show him how grateful we are.”  
  
“Damn right you do.” Ratchet grabbed a dangling spray hose and pointed it at Sunstreaker's back, sluicing away the suds and rinsing the gold armor clean. “And I have plans for the both of you.”  
  
Sideswipe revved his engine. “Color me intrigued. Do tell.” He rolled his shoulders and hips, prompting Sunstreaker to swat at him with the scrubber.  
  
“I'll color you purple if you don't hold still,” he snapped and his cloth dove in at Sideswipe's pelvic array with Sideswipe spreading his legs further for maximum access.  
  
With Sunstreaker focused on his brother, now was the time to strike. Ratchet shut off the sprayer, let it go, and dragged his hands down Sunstreaker's back. Shiny clean, his armor was smooth as satin and Ratchet traced the seams with his fingers. He dragged his hands down until he found the powerful joints of Sunstreaker's hips, the larger gap inviting him to stroke cleanser-wet cables beneath.  
  
Sunstreaker shivered, briefly losing his focus on Sideswipe's ablutions. He was particularly sensitive there, Ratchet knew. He'd memorized both of their frame specs, not only because he had to fix them so fragging often, but because it had other, more entertaining applications.  
  
Case in point.  
  
“That's not getting me clean,” Sunstreaker said, but there was little heat in his vocals. At least, not of the anger kind.  
  
“I know.” Ratchet dragged his mouth over Sunstreaker's shoulder spar. “Or should I pay more attention to Sideswipe?”  
  
“He is begging for it,” Sunstreaker said with a splash of cleanser and a swipe of his scrubber over his brother's interface panel. He followed it up with a squirt of the sprayer, rinsing Sideswipe clean.  
  
Sideswipe arched his back, crossing his wrists above his helm. “I could beg. If you want me to.” He ran his glossa over his lips slowly. Little tease.  
  
Ratchet edged past Sunstreaker with a chuckle. “Maybe later,” he said, and he stole a kiss, a little moan leaving his vocalizer as Sideswipe snagged his glossa and sucked on it.  
  
Sideswipe purred into his mouth. And Sunstreaker snorted but kept on scrubbing, though it was with a little less attention than before. Now, he more stared than he scrubbed. Which was fine with Ratchet.  
  
He broke off the kiss and sank to his knees, ignoring the creak in his joints. Maybe it was finally time he let First Aid take a look at those? He wasn't that damn old!  
  
Ratchet rested his hands on Sideswipe's hips, holding them in place as he leaned forward and nuzzled Sideswipe's panel. Sideswipe was already hot, and he scooted his legs further apart, making room for Ratchet between them.  
  
“Gonna do something useful while you're down there?” Sideswipe asked with a cheeky wink.  
  
“Was thinking about it,” Ratchet retorted and he curled one hand around Sideswipe's leg. “On my shoulder.”  
  
Sideswipe was happy to oblige, shifting his weight to drape his leg over Ratchet's shoulder, heel urging Ratchet closer. His mouth was already there so Ratchet pressed a kiss to Sideswipe's rapidly heating panel, glossa licking around the seams of it.  
  
The panel slid aside, Sideswipe's spike slowly pressurizing as the tantalizing scent of his valve lubricants floated to Ratchet's sensors. His mouth lubricated. He gave Sideswipe's spike a cursory lick but his real interest was in that lovely valve, the ring of red biolights inset in black calling to him. Sideswipe's anterior node had been painted the same bright red, as though summoning attention to all the pleasure that could be found from it.  
  
Ratchet's glossa flicked over it, a quick greeting.  
  
Sideswipe's hips hitched forward. A moan escaped his vocalizer. His knee bent awkwardly, trying to tilt himself better for Ratchet's mouth and that's when Sunstreaker came to both of their aid. He braced Sideswipe so that his twin could drape both legs over Ratchet's shoulders, bracing himself against the wall behind him.  
  
This had the added benefit of tilting his hips up, putting his valve in perfect line with Ratchet's mouth. Ratchet licked his lips and dove right in, lapping up a bead of lubricant and rolling the sweet taste around his mouth.  
  
Sideswipe whimpered again, his hands dropping from above his helm. One landed on Ratchet's, a thumb sweeping over his chevron.  
  
“Oh, Primus, that's good,” Sideswipe moaned, his hips rocking toward Ratchet's mouth, pushing down harder. He twitched as Ratchet licked around his valve opening, tickling the ring of sensors just within the rim before returning to that anterior node and suckling upon it.  
  
Sideswipe shouted, hips bucking, his frame heating. The sound echoed around them until the wet sound of glossas tangling made Ratchet look up, his engine revving. The Twins were kissing, Sunstreaker pinning Sideswipe's helm against the wall with the force of his kiss, one of his hands pressed against Sideswipe's abdominal plate as though keeping him in place.  
  
Ratchet would never not be aroused by the sight of them together, whether it be Sideswipe giving in to Sunstreaker's force or Sunstreaker surrendering to Sideswipe being sweet and tender. Or even vice versa.  
  
Ratchet's own engine purred and he returned his attention to Sideswipe's leaking valve, lubricant already dripping from it. Ratchet's glossa tried to catch each trickle, but alas, some was lost to the swirl of the drain. He pushed his glossa deeper, seeking the second ring of nodes, but they were just beyond his reach.  
  
His hands tightened on Sideswipe's aft as he pulled back, nibbling on the rim of Sideswipe's valve. All these delicate sensors were desperate for attention. The biolights brightened and darkened in fitful bursts. Sideswipe's engine rattled them both, and it all kicked into a higher gear when Ratchet returned to his anterior node, swirling his glossa around it before giving it a long lick.  
  
Sideswipe's hand pressed harder against his helm, all but smushing Ratchet's face against his valve. Ratchet could feel the pulsing of Sideswipe's platelets with his glossa and the rapid rise in heat. Sideswipe's lubricants dripped down Ratchet's chin, too quick to clean with his glossa.  
  
Above him, the Twins continued to kiss, but now Sunstreaker was rocking his hips against Sideswipe's side. No, wait. Sideswipe's hand was in there, too. It was an awkward angle and the best he could do was provide a loose tunnel for Sunstreaker's spike, but it worked well enough, if the purring of Sunstreaker's engine was any indication.  
  
Sunstreaker's free hand grasped Sideswipe's chin and tilted his helm back, breaking off the kiss to attack Sideswipe's intake. His denta and glossa nibbled and licked across Sideswipe's neck cables and Sideswipe whined.  
  
His hips bucked against Ratchet's mouth, small circles that encouraged full focus on his throbbing anterior node. Ratchet obliged, eager to taste Sideswipe's first overload of the evening. He planned on many more.  
  
Sideswipe's hand clenched on his helm. His thighs trembled. His hips bucked and he gasped a staticky “Ratch” before he overloaded hard, valve flexing and pulse beneath Ratchet's glossa. A low hum built in his vocalizer, his hips working against Ratchet's mouth, and the gentle caresses of his glossa, designed to draw out the pleasure.  
  
Ratchet purred against Sideswipe's valve, the light vibrations making Sideswipe quiver. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Sideswipe's thigh, and looked up just in time to catch Sunstreaker cry out his own overload, his spike spurting against Sideswipe's side.  
  
So much for getting clean.  
  
Ratchet's own equipment hummed. He loosed one hand from his grip on Sideswipe's thigh and reached between his own legs, palming his panel. He pressed the heel of his palm against the heated metal, shivering as pleasure wound through his system.  
  
“Mmm,” Sideswipe purred and dragged Sunstreaker back in for a kiss before he looked down at Ratchet. “Thank you.”  
  
“We're not done yet,” Ratchet replied with a teasing nip to Sideswipe's inner thigh. “I have plans for you two. So I hope you refueled before you came here.”  
  
The Twins exchanged glances. Sideswipe offered a wicked smirk. Sunstreaker raised his orbital ridges.  
  
“We'll see about that, old mech,” Sideswipe said and he pushed his shoulders against the wall, bracing his hands behind him. He lifted one leg from Ratchet's shoulder and lowered it to the ground.  
  
But, Ratchet noticed smugly, there was a bit of a tremble to his pede.  
  
Sunstreaker offered Sideswipe a hand, helping to untangle their frames. Ratchet pushed to his pedes with another creak of his knee joints. He hit the panel, turning off the spray.  
  
“So,” Sideswipe chirped with a pointed look at Ratchet's panel. “Round two?”  
  
Ratchet chuckled. “Not in here.” The quarters were cramped as it was and besides, he hadn't enlisted Ironhide's help to drag in a larger berth that wasn't going to see any use. “We do have furniture, you know.” Closest to the door, Ratchet left first, idly brushing off stray droplets of solvent.  
  
He heard a snicker behind him.  
  
Ratchet yelped as a frame crashed into him from behind. He stumbled, arms flailing, and then tipped forward, hitting the ground with a room shaking clatter.  
  
“What th-- Sideswipe!” he roared, because there could be only one perpetrator, and thrashed around beneath Sideswipe's weight, for all the good it did him.  
  
Arms enclosed his midsection, one hand finding his interface panel and flirting across it. Ratchet's engine purred. His outrage shifted to a moan, hips bucking into Sideswipe's fingers.  
  
“Your turn,” Sideswipe purred, rocking against Ratchet's aft.  
  
Ratchet pushed himself to his elbows and pushed back against Sideswipe, parting his thighs as Sideswipe nudged between them. “You didn't have to tackle me, you aft.”  
  
“Didn't want you getting away,” Sideswipe said, and now both hands were stroking Ratchet's heated array as Sideswipe braced his weight against Ratchet's lower back.  
  
Black and yellow pedes walked into Ratchet's visual feed. “The floor, Sideswipe? Really?”  
  
“Any time, any place, Sunshine,” Sideswipe sang, and crowed his victory when Ratchet stopped fighting and let both of his panels slide open, his spike pressurizing into Sideswipe's eager fingers. “So why don't you have a seat and occupy the other end?”  
  
Ratchet's glossa flirted over his lips as he tilted his helm back, the angle too awkward to see anything further than Sunstreaker's ventral armor. “It's not the first time,” Ratchet admitted and patted the floor with his hands. “Come on, Sunstreaker. Get down here.”  
  
“You let him have his way too much,” Sunstreaker muttered, but he lowered himself down anyway, with an awkward shuffling of limbs.  
  
“Hah. Says the pot to the kettle,” Sideswipe said and Ratchet heard the distinct click of his spike emerging before Sideswipe shifted position, his hands stroking Ratchet's aft as he nudged his spike between Ratchet's thighs.  
  
The head of his spike eased against Ratchet's valve, thrusting over it and skating across his anterior node. Sideswipe made no attempt to enter him, instead rocking his hips so that his spike glided across the exterior sensor ring of Ratchet's valve. Ratchet's calipers twitched restlessly.  
  
And then his field of vision was surrounded by yellow armor and he felt Sunstreaker's hands cup his face, thumbs stroking his chevron. He was surrounded by the scent of the cleanser and underlying it, the distinct flavor of Sunstreaker's special wax. He must have given himself a quick polish – an act Sunstreaker had mastered.  
  
Ratchet moaned and turned his helm, capturing one of Sunstreaker's fingers with his mouth, glossa flickering over the tip of it. Sideswipe latched fingers around his hips, bracing himself as he rocked against Ratchet's valve, teasing out the lubricant and slicking his spike with it.  
  
Heat blossomed in Ratchet's array, thickening his arousal. He sucked harder on Sunstreaker's finger.  
  
Sunstreaker gave a sharp ventilation and scooted closer, his panel within inches if Ratchet only tilted his helm downward. The weight of Sunstreaker's thighs rested over his hands as though trapping him in place. Ratchet's engine purred. He nibbled on Sunstreaker's finger, rolling his optics toward Sunstreaker's in encouragement.  
  
Sunstreaker's panel clicked open, spike emerging slowly. His finger popped from Ratchet's mouth and Ratchet ducked his helm, capturing the first third of Sunstreaker's spike with his lips.  
  
Sunstreaker shivered and Sideswipe caught the head of his spike on the edge of Ratchet's valve, thrusting in with a slow, steady push that ignited every node one by one. Ratchet whined on Sunstreaker's spike, feeling surrounded by the two of them and loving every moment of it. His valve fluttered on Sideswipe's spike, pushing more lubricant around it.  
  
“Ah,” Sideswipe said with a tangible shiver. “I could do this all day. Love the way you feel, Ratch.”  
  
Sunstreaker made an indignant noise. “And I suppose I'm just yesterday's garbage, huh?”  
  
“Don't be like that, Sunflower. You know I love it when you ride me raw,” Sideswipe retorted with what Ratchet was sure was a cheeky smirk. The fragger.  
  
Ratchet had to admit, though, he loved it, too. Loved watching Sunstreaker grind on top of Sideswipe, seeking his pleasure with single-minded determination. His engine revved at the thought and he moaned around Sunstreaker's spike, taking more of it into his mouth. Sunstreaker flexed his hands on Ratchet's helm, fingers shaking.  
  
“We ought to be shoving something into your mouth,” Sunstreaker muttered, though that didn't stop him from rocking into Ratchet's mouth, his spike rubbing over Ratchet's glossa.  
  
Sideswipe chuckled, thrusting a lazy rhythm. “Later,” he said, tone thick with promise.  
  
Ratchet squirmed in Sideswipe's grasp, hips dancing to encourage a faster pace. His cooling fans clicked on with a whirr, his vents blasting heat. Charge crawled through his circuitry at a rapid pace.  
  
He sucked harder on Sunstreaker's spike, enjoying the pulse on his glossa and the way Sunstreaker tugged on his helm, barely noticeable but present all the same.  
  
Sideswipe picked up the pace, his hips clanging against Ratchet's aft with a chime of metal on metal. Ratchet's fingers scraped across the floor as his valve dripped, calipers clutching at Sideswipe's every thrust, his spike raking over the spirals of sensors within Ratchet's valve. He was at the perfect angle to pound at Ratchet's deepest node, a bright burst of pleasure winding through Ratchet's array with very push.  
  
The charge built within him, cycling higher and higher until it reached a crescendo. Ratchet's legs shook, his elbows wobbled, and Sideswipe stabbed deep within him. The head of his spike raked that deep node and Ratchet keened, overload stroking him like a lightning bolt. It took the last threads of his concentration to remember not to bite down as the pleasure rocked through him. He clamped down on Sideswipe's spike, entire frame shaking.  
  
“That's right,” Sideswipe gasped, sunk to the hilt, just rolling his hips in increments as his hands fluttered over Ratchet's hips and aft. “Give it to me.”  
  
Ratchet squirmed, valve sensitive but not unwilling. Tremors dripped down his backstrut, but Sunstreaker shifted beneath him, spike leaking over his glossa. Ratchet got to work, sucking Sunstreaker down to the root, the yellow twin's spike swelling within his mouth.  
  
Sunstreaker was already close, his vents blasting heat and he petted Ratchet's helm, thumbs stroking Ratchet's lips stretched around his spike. He looked down at Ratchet between his thighs and their optics met, Sunstreaker's shining like blue fire.  
  
Ratchet swallowed, intake flexing, and Sunstreaker came undone. His helm fell back, his hips juttered upward, and he pulsed into Ratchet's mouth and down his intake. He made muffled sounds of pleasure, as though too embarrassed to let them loose. His hands eased on Ratchet's helm before he withdrew, spike softening.  
  
Ratchet licked his lips, the taste of Sunstreaker ripe on his glossa.  
  
“My turn,” Sideswipe breathed and he hunched over Ratchet's back, hips pounding.  
  
Ratchet's helm tilted toward the floor, bracing himself as each thrust slammed into him. He ex-vented in hiccuping bursts, valve twitching around Sideswipe's spike until Sideswipe, too, overloaded with a hot spurt of transfluid that washed against Ratchet's nodes.  
  
Sideswipe hissed a long “yes,” fingers tightening on Ratchet's hips before he abruptly withdrew, the last few spurts landing on Ratchet's plating.  
  
Sideswipe sucked in a heavy ventilation, his hands stroking around the splatter on Ratchet's armor. “Mmm, mmm, good,” he purred.  
  
Ratchet pushed himself to his hands, feeling a wobble in his knees. “Messy,” he corrected.  
  
“How true,” Sideswipe said with mock dismay. “And you were so clean.” His hands squeezed Ratchet's hands. “You're always telling me to pick up after myself. What better time to start than now?”  
  
Ratchet's world turned upside down. Or, should he say, right side up. Sideswipe flipped him onto his back, shoved his legs apart and dove right in, making happy noises. His glossa flicked and squirmed over Ratchet's array, lapping up every drop of transfluid and lubricant.  
  
Ratchet moaned and dug his heels into the floor, canting his hips toward Sideswipe's mouth. “You're a brat,” he gasped.  
  
“I know.” Sideswipe was as smug as smug could be, making positively lewd noises as he slurped and sipped and suckled. Ratchet's sensitive anterior node quivered with every pass of his lover's glossa.  
  
Sunstreaker leaned over Ratchet, pressing their forehelms together with a soft nuzzle. “Ever get the feeling you're no longer in charge?” he asked.  
  
“When it comes to your brother, always,” Ratchet said dryly.  
  
He pulled Sunstreaker's mouth to his, their glossas tangling together upside-down. Or maybe it was the way Sideswipe was slurping at his valve as though Ratchet's lubricant was his favorite flavor.  
  
“He does seem to have all the fun,” Sunstreaker said against his lips, a small smile teasing in his optics.  
  
“He's greedy,” Ratchet agreed. “So why don't you climb on up here and let me have a taste.”  
  
Sunstreaker blinked.  
  
Ratchet patted his chestplate. “Sit,” he said with a wink. “Right here.” He'd prove to them he was old, not broken. He knew tricks they'd never seen. “But facing your brother.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sideswipe said, words a bit muffled. “There's a lot of ground to cover down here, bro. And this spike needs some attention.” He flicked his glossa across the tip of Ratchet's spike, making it bob in its housing.  
  
Ratchet's engine released a strangled noise.  
  
Sunstreaker, however, still hesitated. “I won't hurt you?”  
  
“I'm a lot sturdier than I look,” Ratchet promised and reached above his helm, fingers tickling at Sunstreaker's exposed equipment. “And you'll love it.”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
It took some rearranging and ungainly positioning of limbs until Sunstreaker straddled Ratchet's face, his spike squeezed between their frames and rubbing against Ratchet's windshield. Sunstreaker hooked his arms under Ratchet's hips and held onto his thighs from beneath, forcing Ratchet's legs wider for Sideswipe's benefit.  
  
“Nice of you to join me,” Sideswipe said, rubbing the side of his helm against the inside of Ratchet's thigh. “You take top, I take bottom?”  
  
Sunstreaker's answer was to suck Ratchet's spike into his mouth, swirling his glossa over the tip. Ratchet moaned, tried to buck upward, but Sunstreaker's grip locked him in place. He could hardly twitch, much less gain any leverage.  
  
Well, all right then.  
  
His own hands wrapped around Sunstreaker's hips, flattening the yellow twin down on top of him, getting a perfect view of a dripping, eager valve. Sunstreaker had gone the opposite route from Sideswipe, opting for yellow with black accents instead. His nodes were less rings and more vertically descending lines that went deep into his valve to join into a deepset sensor nexus, which was one of the reasons he was the most vocal when he was on top, riding one of them to completion. It had the best angle for reaching that particular node.  
  
Best of all, the sensor lines were anchored by exterior nodes. Rather than a main anterior sensor like most favored, Sunstreaker had a ring of smaller, secondary ones linked to the rows of sensors in his valve. Touching one didn't give quite as large a jolt as having one primary node, but in combination...?  
  
Ratchet ex-vented a burst of moist, heated air over Sunstreaker's valve, watching the smaller nodes light up in response. Sunstreaker shivered. His valve squeezed out a drop of silvery lubricant. Ratchet could hear the tiny calipers flexing.  
  
In combination they were so sensitive as to be almost painful.  
  
Ratchet's mouth filled with lubricant. He traced his glossa around the rim of Sunstreaker's valve, flirting with those pretty sensors. Sunstreaker's thighs trembled around him, squeezing against his helm. He moaned on Ratchet's spike, the vibrations sending a jagged burst of pleasure through Ratchet's array.  
  
Ratchet bit back a grin and flicked his glossa across those sensors again. A long, lingering lap and Sunstreaker ground his spike down against Ratchet's windshield. A series of quick, suckling pops and Sunstreaker whimpered, hips dancing against Ratchet's mouth. The heat rising from his array buffeted Ratchet's face.  
  
And then Sideswipe nibbled on Ratchet's anterior node and Ratchet shouted, hips bucking as a burst of pleasure seared through his sensory net. His valve flexed, calipers squeezing out trickles of Sideswipe's transfluid and his own lubricant.  
  
“That's better,” Sideswipe murmured, pressing a kiss to the throbbing sensor. “I didn't want you to forget I was down here.”  
  
Sunstreaker made a muffled comment, probably something along the lines of how annoying Sideswipe was. Ratchet could only agree with him.  
  
Still. There was pleasure to be had.  
  
“Get back to work,” Ratchet barked, or tried to. Sunstreaker was working his intake over Ratchet's spike and the ripples were quite distracting. “You're not done yet.”  
  
“Sir, yes, sir.” Sideswipe's voice floated up to him before he did, indeed, get back to work, glossa plunging into Ratchet's valve with a noisy slurp.  
  
Ratchet moaned, heat searing through his array. It was incredibly hard to focus, with Sunstreaker working magic on his spike, and Sideswipe making such happy noises as he licked Ratchet's valve, and then Sunstreaker so eager above him. Sunstreaker made the most arousing sounds when Ratchet teased him, when Ratchet mouthed Sunstreaker's valve and flicked that ring of exterior nodes, and pressed kisses all over the spaces between.  
  
Sunstreaker's armor flared, heat rising from beneath. The whirr of his cooling fans rattled Ratchet's frame as his spike leaked down Ratchet's windshield. He whimpered again, mouth less moving on Ratchet's spike as he was holding Ratchet's spike against his glossa, intermittently sucking. He knew, by the trembling of Sunstreaker's thighs, the rapid flickering of his nodes, that Sunstreaker was approaching overload.  
  
Suckling his valve was always the quickest way to do it.  
  
Ratchet sealed his lips over the rim of Sunstreaker's valve, a light pressure against every tiny node, and flicked his glossa into Sunstreaker's valve. He curled it just so, lapping at the sensor tucked within the rim, right behind what would have been the main anterior sensor.  
  
Sunstreaker keened. His hips jerked, his vents rattled, and he overloaded hard, thighs clamping down around Ratchet's helm. He bucked against Ratchet's mouth, the twitching of his rim buzzing Ratchet's lips.  
  
His moans vibrated along Ratchet's spike and echoed throughout his array. Ratchet tingled as the head of his spike bumped the back of Sunstreaker's intake.  
  
Sunstreaker's thighs went lax around him, his frame slumping, and then his attention on Ratchet's spike increased in earnest. He licked and sucked as though the spike were a rust stick.  
  
Ratchet moaned and rocked into Sunstreaker's mouth. His entire array buzzed and throbbed, and he shouted when Sideswipe latched onto his anterior node and sucked.  
  
Ratchet arched and overloaded, hips working restlessly between his two lovers. He spilled down Sunstreaker's intake and throbbed against Sideswipe's lips. They slurped at him without shame, drinking him down, until Ratchet collapsed, vents whirring madly.  
  
Sideswipe pressed a gentle kiss to Ratchet's anterior node and smacked his lips. Ratchet patted Sunstreaker's aft and eased out from under the yellow twin, sitting upright. He watched Sideswipe push himself to his knees, his spike standing proudly at the apex of his thighs, drizzling pre-transfluid as it throbbed with denied release.  
  
Sideswipe wrapped his fingers around it, shuddering. Ratchet knew that look. Sideswipe was close.  
  
And then he shuffled forward, furiously working his spike. His vents blasted heat into the already warm room.  
  
“Open,” he said, the tip of one finger tilting Sunstreaker's helm upward.  
  
Sunstreaker obeyed, far more pliant in the wake of an overload, his glossa sliding out. Ratchet licked his lips and watched Sideswipe scoot closer and closer until he overloaded with a gasp, spurts of transfluid striping over Sunstreaker's glossa and into his mouth. A few stray spurts landed on Sunstreaker's face.  
  
“Oh, Primus, that's good,” Sideswipe moaned, working his spike until it had no more transfluid to give, and then he dropped down to clean off Sunstreaker's face with his glossa before kissing Sunstreaker.  
  
Ratchet's internals clenched with interest, his systems weakly whirring. A reminder popped up in the corner of his HUD. He laboriously crawled to his pedes, grabbing the back of a nearby chair to keep himself standing. His legs wobbled.  
  
“Break time,” he declared.  
  
“And then more?” Sideswipe asked, nipping Sunstreaker's lips before drawing back.  
  
Ratchet smirked. “If you think I'm done with you two, you'd be wrong. For once, I'm the one with the plans.”  
  
“Oh?” Sunstreaker arched an orbital ridge and held up a hand, letting Sideswipe tug him to his pedes.  
  
“You'll just have to wait and find out.” Ratchet winked.  
  
His pedes feeling more stable, he retrieved some energon for all three of them. They still had plenty to last the week though if the next few days went anything like today, they would have to leave his quarters at some point.  
  
“Drink up,” Ratchet said, divvying out the energon and keeping one for himself. “You'll need it.”  
  
Sideswipe, who had plopped himself down on the couch, grabbed Ratchet's arm and pulled him down. He dropped next to Sideswipe, who promptly turned to lean against his brother and prop one leg up on Ratchet's lap. He wiggled his aft into the couch, making himself nice and comfortable.  
  
“There,” he said, scooting down until his helm was propped on Sunstreaker's lap. “That's better.”  
  
Ratchet patted his knee. “Is it nap time?”  
  
Sunstreaker snorted a laugh. “No. He's just an attention hog.”  
  
“Am not.”  
  
But Sunstreaker didn't take the bait. He turned his attention to his cube and, Ratchet noticed, rested his free hand on his brother's helm, a thumb stroking one sensor horn. Sideswipe purred, pushing his helm into Sunstreaker's hand.  
  
“So,” Sideswipe said after a long sip of his energon. “What brought this on? Not that I'm complaining.” His free hand petted his exposed equipment, alternating between flicking over his anterior node and pinching the tip of his spike.  
  
“You're insatiable,” Sunstreaker muttered. He hadn't stowed his equipment either, but he wasn't playing with it like Sideswipe.  
  
In comparison, Ratchet supposed he was a prude. Or maybe it was old programming that had him triggering his panels to shut after cooling down from an overload. Maybe that was part of the reason Sideswipe was always raring to go – his systems never completely cooled down.  
  
Something to look into later.  
  
“I also have no shame.” Sideswipe nudged Ratchet with his pede. “Well?” he prompted.  
  
Ratchet rubbed Sideswipe's knee and tickled fingers into the underside, causing Sideswipe's leg to twitch. “It has come to my attention that I work too hard,” Ratchet said with a wry grin. “And that you two are laboring under a misconception.”  
  
“Which one?” Sunstreaker asked. He finished off his energon, dispersing it with a flick of his wrist.  
  
Ratchet followed suit, the energon hitting his tanks and restoring his energy to a more acceptable level. “There was a once a time in my functioning where I was known as the life of the party.”  
  
“I don't believe you,” Sideswipe said. He slurped at his energon, some spilling on his chin until he wiped it away.  
  
“You mean you weren't always a terror in the medbay?” Sunstreaker asked.  
  
Ratchet rolled his optics. “Brats.” His tone was fond, however. “The war changed many things. It was hard to party when I was surrounded by so much death.” His vocals dropped, thoughts turning inward. “It felt like a betrayal to do so.”  
  
Sideswipe nudged him with his pede. “And now?”  
  
“Now I want to remember what it's like to live again.” Ratchet offered them both a smile. “It's your fault.”  
  
Sunstreaker snorted. “Not sorry.”  
  
“Not one bit,” Sideswipe chimed in and finished off his energon.  
  
“I didn't think you were. And to that end, I want to try something,” Ratchet said, letting his fingers drag up the inside of Sideswipe's thigh. “If either of you are amenable.”  
  
Sideswipe hummed in his chassis. “Only one of us?”  
  
“For now. The position is better suited for two.” Ratchet's fingers stroked over a stray drop of lubricant, feeling the heat of Sideswipe's valve wafting toward him. “And I know how much you like to watch.”  
  
Sideswipe's revving engine vibrated the couch. “That I do.” He tilted his helm back, looking up at his brother. “What about it, Sunshine? Want to see what kinky ideas are rattling around in that head?”  
  
Sunstreaker met Ratchet's optics. “Sure,” he said. “I'm game.”  
  
Ratchet patted Sideswipe's thigh. “Up you go then,” he said, and crooked a finger at Sunstreaker. “And you come here.”  
  
Sideswipe all but leapt from the couch, eagerness writ into his energy field. He nudged the low table aside with his knee and plopped down on it, the metal groaning under his weight but holding steady. One of these days, it was going to collapse beneath him and Ratchet was going to point and laugh. And then demand that Sideswipe replace it.  
  
Sideswipe spread his legs, hand dipping between them to pet at his spike. “All right,” he said. “Let the show begin.”  
  
Ratchet rolled his optics and shifted his attention to Sunstreaker. “Lie down for me?”  
  
“On the couch?”  
  
“As good a place as any,” Ratchet said. In fact, the couch might actually make it easier.  
  
Sunstreaker shrugged and did as Ratchet asked, laying on his back and scooting down. He didn't seem to know what to do with his arms until he lifted them over his head and gripped the arm of the couch.  
  
“Now what?”  
  
Now came the part that involved geometry. Ratchet had done this once before, a long time ago when he'd been wilder and far more flexible. Luckily, the twins had flexibility in spades. And Sunstreaker, with his multiple, smaller exterior nodes, was the perfect candidate for deriving pleasure from it.  
  
Sunstreaker parted his thighs as Ratchet moved between them. Ratchet threw his left leg over Sunstreaker's right, until a red thigh pressed against the back of the couch. Ratchet scooted forward, tucking Sunstreaker's left leg over his hip. Closer, closer and there! Two arrays were positioned nice and close together, Ratchet's closed panel rubbing up against Sunstreaker's open valve.  
  
“You want to spike me?” Sunstreaker asked, confused.  
  
Ratchet grinned. “Not quite.” He reached down, swirling a finger around the tip of Sunstreaker's recessed spike. “Close this.”  
  
Sideswipe all but giggled with glee. “I know where this is going,” he moaned and he slipped past his spike, rubbing at his valve. “You're going to love this, Sunny.”  
  
“How do you know?” Ratchet asked as he opened his panel to his valve, lubricant already dripping from within. Merely thinking about this had gotten him revved.  
  
Sideswipe shrugged. “Human porn.”  
  
“You watch too much of it,” Sunstreaker grumbled, but he obeyed Ratchet anyway, closing off his spike and leaving only his valve open to Ratchet's ministrations. “Now what?”  
  
“Now you lie back and enjoy it,” Ratchet said, slipping his fingers between their bodies, flirting with the rim of Sunstreaker's valve before dipping inside.  
  
Sunstreaker moaned, back arching as he pushed down against Ratchet, mere inches separating their arrays.  
  
“Though feel free to participate,” Ratchet said, and he scooted that one more precious inch, only to gasp as their valves came into direct contact.  
  
His anterior node throbbed as it brushed across one of Sunstreaker's smaller ones, a zap of static passing between them. The moist heat of Sunstreaker's valve wafted against his own. Ratchet rocked his hips forward, rubbing his valve over Sunstreaker's and was treated with a full frame shiver. Sunstreaker gripped the couch as Ratchet felt his valve give a needy pulse.  
  
“That's,” Sunstreaker said, rolling his hips downward, their arrays scraping and shifting and rubbing together with slick noises. “That's different.”  
  
“Good different?” Ratchet asked, huffing a ventilation as he rocked down and Sunstreaker matched him, his leg squeezing around Ratchet's waist for leverage. Shocks of pleasure zapped through Ratchet's array, his internals clenching with want.  
  
Sunstreaker's glossa swept over his lips. “Very,” he moaned and then his optics flickered offline as he circled his hips, grinding down on Ratchet's array.  
  
Ratchet's anterior node throbbed. More lubricant trickled out of his valve, dripping into Sunstreaker's. It was probably a maddening kind of torture to feel that drip, drip, drip on his smaller nodes, but Sunstreaker didn't seem bothered by it. He sucked in sharper ventilations, the shivering in his frame getting stronger.  
  
He was a sight to behold, Ratchet thought. He tightened his grip on Suntreaker's right leg and grasped the back of the couch with his other hand, giving himself leverage to thrust again and again at Sunstreaker's valve. After all the overloads today, he expected this one to come slow and sweet. But he'd forgotten how sexy Sunstreaker could be, and how much he loved this particular position.  
  
Young mechs. They tended to think with their spikes because gratification came that much quicker and easier. They underestimated the deep and satisfying value inherent with a valve only overload.  
  
Sunstreaker's left leg drew up, knee tilting Ratchet forward by a fraction and Ratchet moaned, the shifting angle perfect. Their valves rubbed together, parting and meeting like two mechs kissing. Ratchet, too, shivered, his fingers flexing in their grips. Sunstreaker's frame was a thing of motion, arching away from the couch to get closer to Ratchet, his smaller nodes throbbing in syncopated rhythms, felt by the sensitive metals of Ratchet's valve.  
  
“You have the best ideas,” Sideswipe moaned, his optics locked on them, three fingers buried in his valve as he pumps them noisily. “He's already close, Ratch.”  
  
“I know,” Ratchet gasped, licking his lips again and again, his vents blasting heat. “Because I am, too.”  
  
Sideswipe lurched off the table toward Ratchet, fingers still buried in his own valve. But that didn't stop him from grabbing Ratchet with his free hand and slanting their lips together, his lips eager and hungry. His glossa plunged into Ratchet's mouth, tasting like a mix of all their fluids.  
  
Sunstreaker whimpered, the couch creaking beneath his grip. His movements became more urgent, hips grinding down hard against Ratchet's valve.  
  
“No fair,” he wailed. “Kissing like that in front of me.”  
  
Sideswipe chuckled against Ratchet's lips and sucked on Ratchet's glossa, the rhythmic pulls of his mouth all too close to that of Ratchet's and Sunstreaker's valves rubbing together. Ratchet shook, the heat tightening within him to an almost unbearable coil.  
  
He hiked Sunstreaker's thigh harder against his side, gripped the couch, and bucked his hips, his anterior node grinding hard against the rim of Sunstreaker's valve, the edges of his own flirting with those smaller sensors.  
  
Sunstreaker shouted, back bowing off the couch as he overloaded. Plating flared wide to emit heat, his engine roared, and his valve pulsed. Ratchet felt the rhythmic prodding of those multiple sensors against his own.  
  
He broke away from the kiss with Sideswipe, bowed his helm, and rocked down against Sunstreaker's fluttering valve. Overload struck him like a full frame throb. Ratchet moaned, long and low, as his valve clamped down on nothing and gushed lubricant.  
  
He sank down on Sunstreaker, frame shaking, only dimly aware of Sideswipe next to him, fans singing a frustrated tune of an overload just out of reach.  
  
“I don't care who, but one of you better frag me right now,” Sideswipe said, lubricant slicking his thighs.  
  
“Can't move,” Sunstreaker slurred, stirring. His optics onlined and he shifted on the couch, only managing to lower his arms from above his helm.  
  
“Takes a lot out of you.” Ratchet grinned and untangled their limbs, sitting down on the couch properly. “Come here, Sideswipe.” He patted his lap.  
  
Sunstreaker made a dismissive noise, pulling up his legs to make room, watching them through narrowed, dim optics. His plating gave off the occasional shiver.  
  
Ratchet would bet a million creds he'd want to do that again.  
  
Sideswipe, meanwhile, didn't have to be told twice. He climbed onto Ratchet's lap and braced his hands on Ratchet's shoulders. His spike bumped Ratchet's ventrum as he rocked against Ratchet's array.  
  
“Gonna spike me?” he asked, almost with a challenge in his tone.  
  
“That was the idea.” Ratchet allowed his spike to pressurize and Sideswipe gnawed on his bottom lip plate as it brushed over his leaking valve.  
  
Ratchet rested his hands on Sideswipe's hips, bucking upward just enough to tease. Given the state of his equipment, it would take a moment before he could be ready for his next overload, but right now, he was interested in driving Sideswipe to distraction.  
  
“Put your hands behind your back.”  
  
Sideswipe gave him a squinty look. “Is there another one of your kinky ideas?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sideswipe obliged, gripping his wrists behind his back, and wriggled on Ratchet's lap. “Too bad I left my cuffs in our quarters.”  
  
“Another time,” Ratchet said. Perhaps he'd even make the Twins retrieve all those accessories later. After all, they had a week. “Now keep your hands there. No touching. Got it?”  
  
“You should know better than to think he can follow orders,” Sunstreaker muttered, his optics brightening by degrees.  
  
“I can when it suits me,” Sideswipe shot back but then his attention returned to Ratchet with a rolling purr of his vocals. “And right now, it suits me.”  
  
“I thought it might.” Ratchet's spike nudged the rim of Sideswipe's valve. “Just don't forget.”  
  
Sideswipe rolled down against him. “I won't. Just spike me already.”  
  
“Not yet.” Ratchet squeezed his hips. “First, you have to watch.”  
  
“Watch what?” And that, dear friends, was significantly close to a whine.  
  
From Sunstreaker came a muffled snicker.  
  
“Watch me,” Ratchet said and he traced a line down his chassis. In his wake, he allowed his chestplates to part, armor sliding aside to bring his spark chamber forward.  
  
Sideswipe's optics cycled wide. “Oh,” he said, leaning closer, but Ratchet's hand on his shoulder kept him in place. “You're cruel.” His thighs tightened over Ratchet's.  
  
Blue light reflected on Sideswipe's face. Sunstreaker levered himself upright, but at a look from Ratchet, he stayed out of touching range. He watched, however, with fever bright optics.  
  
Ratchet smirked at both of them and traced a finger around the edge of his spark chamber, feeling their optics follow every move he made. His spark spun a little faster, sending shivers of pleasure throughout his entire frame.  
  
Sideswipe made a needy noise, sinking down further on Ratchet's spike. His chestplates juttered.  
  
“No merging,” Ratchet said.  
  
“But--”  
  
“No. Merging,” Ratchet repeated. While he certainly enjoyed it, that would take all the fun out of the surprises he had planned for the rest of the week. The Twins were far better at teasing secrets from his spark than he was at concealing them.  
  
But only letting them look and not touch? Now that was sure to drive both of them wild.  
  
“Sadist,” Sideswipe accused. He panted, squirming on Ratchet's lap.  
  
Sunstreaker scooted up to Ratchet's side, pressing his chest against Ratchet's arm, his engine purring. He winnowed a hand between their frames, wrapping fingers around Sideswipe's spike.  
  
Sideswipe whined, bucking his hips. Ratchet deigned to let him sink down further, to half-bury himself in Sideswipe's valve. The red twin squeezed down on him, calipers flexing and pulling.  
  
“Just frag me already,” Sideswipe panted.  
  
“I'm getting there,” Ratchet said, and he dipped a finger into his spark casing, teasing around the edge of the corona. A shudder rippled through him.  
  
“So am I,” Sideswipe gasped and dropped himself, taking Ratchet all the way to the hilt with a low, steady moan. He leaned closer, the furthest edge of Ratchet's spark energy teasing at his chestplate.  
  
Sideswipe whined. Especially when Sunstreaker squeezed and stroked his spike.  
  
Ratchet jerked his hips, bouncing Sideswipe on his spike. The red twin's thighs clamped down, lubricant squeezing out around Ratchet's spike to drip over his thighs.  
  
“You are a devil,” Sunstreaker purred, leaning in to nip at Ratchet's audial.  
  
“Takes one to know one,” Ratchet retorted and he pulsed his spark, the dance of light reflecting in Sideswipe's optics.  
  
Red shoulders twitched. Ratchet heard the sound of metal squeaking, as though Sideswipe was gripping his wrists to keep from touching.  
  
“Ride me,” Ratchet said with a squeeze to Sideswipe's hip. His other hand toyed with his spark, tendrils curling around his fingers.  
  
Sideswipe's hips rocked. He made a helpless noise in his intake, thighs squeezing against Ratchet's as he pushed himself up and let himself drop. His valve clasped at Ratchet's spike, a rippling effect that sparked a pulse of charge. Ratchet's spark flared a little brighter.  
  
“Love it when he does that,” Sunstreaker said, pressing a little harder against Ratchet's side. His vocals darkened with want.  
  
“He does know how to put on a show,” Ratchet agreed, Sideswipe lifting and dropping himself with more urgency, his spike bobbing in Sunstreaker's grip. His mouth opened in desperate pants, his gaze focused on Ratchet's spark.  
  
Sunstreaker nuzzled into Ratchet's intake. “So do you.”  
  
“Well, I try.” Ratchet dipped his fingers further into his spark, his entire frame shivering as charge danced out of his chamber.  
  
Sideswipe moaned, the smack of metal on metal, getting louder and louder. His valve spiraled tightly, Ratchet's spike raking over his nodes.  
  
One good pulse ought to do it.  
  
Ratchet's glossa swept over his lips and he pulsed his spark hard. Sideswipe wailed, tilting forward as his chestplate juttered again, and then he overloaded, hips making jerking motions. His spike spurted into Sunstreaker's hand, his optics flickering.  
  
Fans whirring, Sideswipe slumped, but with a grin on his face. “You are a tease,” he said, releasing his wrists and bringing his hands forward, rolling his shoulders.  
  
“I am,” Ratchet agreed and put his hands on Sideswipe's hips, triggering his chestplates to close, sealing in his spark.  
  
It took only a few more thrusts before he spilled into Sideswipe's valve, his spike spurting weakly. The pleasure threaded through his frame like a warm oil bath.  
  
Sideswipe hummed in his chassis and leaned forward, snuggling into Ratchet's front. “I still say that was mean,” he said, nipping at Ratchet's lips.  
  
He grinned, stroking down Sideswipe's back. “Let me make it up to you.”  
  
“With a merge?” Sunstreaker asked.  
  
“No. The next best thing.” Ratchet turned toward Sunstreaker, tilting to press their forehelms together. “Something Sideswipe's been asking for and I've been too busy to indulge him with.”  
  
“He's been asking for a lot of things,” Sunstreaker said dryly.  
  
Sideswipe's hands clutched his chestplate and he scooted closer. “You're going to let us spike you?” he asked, his voice hushed and thick with desire. His engine revved.  
  
Amused, Ratchet turned back toward the red twin, one hand patting Sideswipe on the aft. “Yes.”  
  
Sunstreaker scoffed. “We spike him all the time.”  
  
“But not together.” Sideswipe shifted back, all but leaping off Ratchet's lap. “Not at the same time. Both of us. In him. Fragging him. Together.” His optics were bright and hungry, despite the multiple overloads he'd already had. Nor did he seem to mind the spill dripping down his legs. “We're going to need the berth.”  
  
Ratchet chuckled as Sideswipe held out his hands and let the red menace pull him to his pedes. It always amused him how his shorter, less massive lovers tried to throw him around as if he were smaller. It was cute.  
  
“Slow down, Sides. He's not going anywhere,” Sunstreaker said, but he leveraged himself off the couch and followed as Sideswipe all but dragged Ratchet toward the berthroom.  
  
“Shut up, Sunflower.” Sideswipe tugged Ratchet onto the berth with him, his hands everywhere as he sought Ratchet's mouth with his own, kisses sloppy and hungry.  
  
Ratchet laughed and tried to slow things down, but Sideswipe's engine was thrumming and his panels had already opened, eager spike rubbing against Ratchet's ventrum. He grabbed Ratchet's leg, pulling it over his hip, his spike sliding against Ratchet's closed array, leaving a slick of pre-transfluid behind. He peppered kisses over Ratchet's face and nipped at his intake.  
  
“Throttle it back, for Primus' sake,” Sunstreaker snarled, climbing up onto the berth with them, though he slid in behind Ratchet. He pressed a kiss to Ratchet's helm and reached over Ratchet, tapping Sideswipe in the helm with the side of his fist. “Sides!”  
  
Sideswipe reared back, optics narrowing. “Ow.”  
  
“You deserved it,” Sunstreaker muttered and he pressed against Ratchet's back, his lips teasing over Ratchet's audial. “Quit acting like an interface starved glitch.”  
  
“Can I help that Ratch is so sexy?” Sideswipe asked and there was almost a pout on his lips. He nuzzled closer to Ratchet's face, their olfactory sensors brushing. “You don't mind, right?”  
  
Ratchet sighed and patted Sideswipe on the hip. “I enjoy your enthusiasm, but do remember to take it slow and careful.”  
  
“I wouldn't hurt you,” Sideswipe murmured and he rolled his spike against Ratchet's valve panel, a slow slide that sent vibrations coursing through his array.  
  
“I know you wouldn't.” Ratchet's engine kicked on, matching the low-pitched growl of Sideswipe's.  
  
Sunstreaker rocked against his aft, his spike sliding against Ratchet's plating before it nudged between Ratchet's legs. He bumped heads with Sideswipe, and both twins snickered, rolling their hips as they dueled with their spikes.  
  
“You two are ridiculous,” Ratchet said.  
  
Sideswipe leaned up, stealing Ratchet's lips for a kiss. “All those magazines say it's better to be with someone who makes you laugh,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “Now open for us, lover. We want to make you feel good.”  
  
“It's always good.” Ratchet's panel slid aside and he shivered as Sunstreaker's spike raked across his valve rim and Sideswipe's spike brushed over his anterior sensor. Pleasure lit up his array like a lightning bolt. Anticipation had lubricant pooling in his valve in thick, sticky trails.  
  
Sideswipe stuck a hand between their frames and curled two fingers into Ratchet's valve, the pads of them stroking a sensor ring. And then two of Sunstreaker's fingers joined his, slipping and sliding together, a delightful stretch that was perfect, not too little, not too much. Ratchet knew how the both of them would feel, too tight, almost painful, stuffed full...  
  
He moaned, hands clutching Sideswipe, his hips restlessly shifting between the two twins. His systems buzzed with warmth, spike pinging for him to release it.  
  
“Enough,” Ratchet gasped, helm tilting back. “I'm ready.” He felt as though he'd been ready all night. His valve ached, despite multiple overloads.  
  
“Are you sure?” Sideswipe asked as his fingers curved and rubbed incessantly over a deeper node.  
  
Ratchet sucked in a heavy weight. “More than. So do it. But Sunstreaker first.”  
  
“What? Why?” That was almost a whine. Sideswipe pouted.  
  
“Because you have the better angle, dumbaft,” Sunstreaker said and he removed his fingers from Ratchet's valve, only to shove them in front of Ratchet's mouth.  
  
He latched onto them eagerly, glossa cleaning the digits and denta scraping lightly over them. He tasted his own lubricant and that thought was as arousing as Sunstreaker's fingers making a sweeping claim of his mouth.  
  
“Fine, fine,” Sideswipe groused and his fingers vanished from Ratchet's valve, too. “It's not like you're always first or anything.”  
  
Ah. Brotherly love.  
  
Ratchet could almost hear Sunstreaker roll his optics, but the amusement vanished when he felt the head of Sunstreaker's spike nudge at his valve. The angle was indeed awkward and it took some hip shifting and Sideswipe guiding before Sunstreaker slid into him. Ratchet moaned around his fingers, aft pushing back toward Sunstreaker as the angle raked against oft-ignored sensors.  
  
Sunstreaker's fingers shook in his mouth, stroking his glossa. He pressed harder against Ratchet's back, engine thrumming.  
  
“And now it's my turn,” Sideswipe declared. He pressed a kiss to Ratchet's cheek and scooted closer, his spike nudging Sunstreaker's before pressing to Ratchet's valve.  
  
Sunstreaker pulled his fingers free with a pop and curled them under Ratchet's thigh, lifting it up, making more room for Sideswipe. The head of his spike nudged against the rim of Ratchet's valve, right next to his brother, and he ex-vented as he pushed. Ratchet concentrated on relaxing, feeling his valve give, slowly accepting the stretch of a second spike. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe weren't that much smaller than him, and together, they didn't amount to the largest Ratchet had ever taken. But it had been millennia, and it was as mind-blowing as he remembered.  
  
Ratchet drew in a slow ventilation, helm tossing back as his hands clenched Sideswipe's chestplate. Sunstreaker tucked his chin over Ratchet's shoulder, his ex-vents puffing on the side of Ratchet's intake. Sideswipe moved slow, with more patience than Ratchet would have given credit, his expression focused.  
  
“You okay?” Sideswipe asked.  
  
“Fine,” Ratchet moaned and he canted his hips forward by a fraction, tempted to reach down there and shove Sideswipe the rest of the way. “Keep going.” His valve rippled.  
  
Sideswipe inched deeper. Sunstreaker sucked in a vent. His grip tightened on Ratchet's thigh, his frame radiating heat.  
  
“None of us are going to last long,” Sideswipe said with a little chuckle. Condensation had gathered on his frame, his plating flared to expel heat.  
  
Ratchet offlined his optics and focused on sensation. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker vibrating around him. The steady push of Sideswipe within him. Sunstreaker's vents and his grip. The eager pulse of Ratchet's own spark and then finally, Sideswipe buried as deep as their position would allow him.  
  
Ratchet's calipers twitched and tightened, his valve stretched, marvelously full. He twitched his hips, barely able to move, all of his sensors pinging back pressure and pleasure.  
  
“So tight,” Sideswipe panted, his spike throbbing an eager beat.  
  
“Oh, Primus,” Sunstreaker moaned, his forehelm resting against the back of Ratchet's shoulder. His hips juttered, shifting his spike against Sideswipe's and within Ratchet's valve.  
  
All three of them moaned.  
  
Sideswipe's hand clamped on Ratchet's aft. His spike throbbed to a rhythm that countered his brother's. Ratchet's valve spiraled tighter. He shivered from his helm to his pedes.  
  
“Move,” Ratchet demanded, pushing his hips down against them. The motion jostled the spikes within his valve, exciting his nodes.  
  
“Gladly,” Sideswipe said.  
  
“Together,” Sunstreaker agreed.  
  
And they did.  
  
Ratchet could only hold on, embarrassing noises spilling from his mouth as they moved, communicating without words. First, in alternating thrusts where their spikes rubbed together as one would withdraw and the other would push. Ratchet was never empty and the push-pull of their spikes was maddeningly good.  
  
All of his vents opened. His cooling fans whirred, struggling to keep up. Ratchet's awareness dimmed, registering only the sound of his lovers, the pleasure of their spikes within him. His valve squeezed and flexed, pouring lubrication. His hips danced, hands twitching.  
  
And then they stopped, both of them half-buried within him.  
  
Ratchet made a noise of protest, hips shifting between them.  
  
“Hold on,” Sideswipe said, his vocals rough with thickened arousal. “It's about to be a bumpy ride.”  
  
Ratchet barely had the frame of processor to wonder what Sideswipe meant before both Twins gripped his hips, drew back together, and thrust into him all at once. Ratchet's back bowed, a keen escaping his vocalizer.  
  
It felt too damned good and all he could do was hang on as they mercilessly pounded him. Charge shot through him, building into itself and Ratchet twitched between them, hips pushing down as if he could take them deeper, valve squeezing and squeezing. Fire blazed through his lines like an inferno. He gasped air through his intake.  
  
The pleasure mounted within him. Lubricant squelched from his valve, soaking his thigh. The Twins thrust within him, raking a deepset node, and Ratchet lost it.  
  
His entire frame seized as his mouth opened in a soundless cry. His valve clamped down on the two spikes, milking them for all they were worth as pleasure roared through his systems like an energon fire. His fingers squeezed dents into Sideswipe's chestplate, his external sensors going white.  
  
Distantly, he heard Sideswipe gasping some kind of filthy encouragement and Sunstreaker moaning. He felt their hands pet his frame, their spikes still within his grasping valve. He felt the gush of more fluid, the hot spill washing against his nodes.  
  
And then he dropped back into reality, his optics popping open, tremors wracking his frame. Pleasure echoed through him and a lazy succor seeped into his struts and cables. He sagged between them, thoroughly sated, his valve twitching.  
  
“Wow,” Sideswipe said. “That was a good one.”  
  
“Mmm.” Ratchet shifted and then blinked. “You...?”  
  
“Yep.” Sideswipe grin could have powered the Ark for a week. “Couldn't help it, you were so fraggng sexy.” He dove in for a kiss, lips teasing against Ratchet's. “Pulled Sunny in, too.”  
  
“Best overload tonight,” Sunstreaker agreed, his hand smoothing down Ratchet's side, long, steady strokes that only encouraged him to relax.  
  
They eased out of him, lubricant and transfluid leaking out in their wake. Ratchet's calipers flexed weakly.  
  
“And we still have the rest of the week,” Ratchet said.  
  
“Our neighbors are going to hate us,” Sideswipe said with a laugh. “We'll have to buy them something in apology.”  
  
Sunstreaker shifted as though to pull back but Ratchet groped behind him, hooking a hand on Sunstreaker's armor and keeping him place. “Stay.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“We can clean up in a minute,” Ratchet said, enjoying the low purr of their frames surrounding him. Besides, he didn't so much mind the wetness between his thighs at the moment.  
  
Sideswipe snickered. “He's going to get twitchy.”  
  
“He'll get over it.”  
  
“He's laying right here,” Sunstreaker muttered, but he snuggled up against Ratchet's back, hand returning to its stroking pattern.  
  
Sideswipe laughed again and nuzzled Ratchet's forehelm with his own. “Really can't wait to see what you've come up with for the rest of the week.”  
  
Ratchet grinned to himself.  
  
He'd have to thank Prime later. He figured a recording of day one should suit just fine.  
  


****

 


End file.
